Two nights had passed of cleaning, rearranging, and reorganizing the space to transform it into a shining new bookstore. On the third evening a young man, just beyond boyhood, knocked on the door.
"We're closed!" Max shouted through the door. The young man pointed at the sign in the window, then at himself. Max took a second look at him. No older than sixteen, he looked malnourished and tired. His clothes were tattered, and under a slight layer of dirt lay a most striking shade of blonde hair, shoulder length and tied into a tail with a scrap of cloth. He considered the lad for a moment before heading toward the door.
"I'll work for anything," the lad said. He looked like he meant it, even if "anything" meant a piece of bread and some fresh water to clean his face. Max hesitated before finally opening the door and gesturing him inside and asking his name.
The lad, eager at a chance to get away from the nighttime breeze of the nearby water, gave a sharp but grateful nod and quickly walked inside. "Thank you," he said; relief was tinting his voice. "My name is David. I'm sorry for the lateness of my visit but I saw the sign in your window and didn't want to chance waiting until tomorrow." He looked down at his feet as he talked, Max noticed, but there was confidence in his voice. "I work hard at whatever task you assign me. I've experience in many things and--"
"Easy, easy, calm down," Max interjected quietly. "You look famished. Have a seat at that table. I'll be right back." He disappeared behind a stack of books and into a back room, leaving David with the rows of half-filled shelves and faint smell of musty pages. He looked like a child waiting for his seat at the dentist. Unsure how to stand, what to look at, how to act… He slowly made his way over to the table and sat down, careful not to brush up against the shelf nearest him. What was really only two minutes seemed like thirty to him. Searching for something to attack his interests, he started scanning the titles of nearby books. The Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe; he had heard some of this as a child at the orphanage. The name sounded familiar at least… Something about a raven. He scanned the next two: The Odyssey and The Origin of the Species. The former also sounded familiar, and the latter he thought sounded like a textbook. Not that any of these matter, he thought. I'll be happy if I can just clean the floors in this place.
At that moment, Max returned from behind the book stacks with a small plate and steaming mug. "You look like you haven't eaten in two days. Here, just don't eat it too quickly." David's face lit up like the morning sun, and he quickly proceeded to burn his tongue on the hot mug of tea.
Max let him take a few bites, then asked "So, where do you hail from?"
David attempted an answer, then thought better of it and decided to swallow his mouthful first. "The boardwalk," he gulped out. "Fairchild Hostel originally, but I left that place a few years ago."
"The orphanage?" Max replied. "My dear boy, you mean you have no family?"
"Hey look, I don't need a family," he snapped out before he realized his tone. He sat a bit straighter then, eyes down, and said, "I mean... I'm doing all right on my own. It just gets a bit rough sometimes, you know? Anyway, I do what I can to keep myself alive." He gestured a thank you with the bit of sandwich he held in his hand, followed by taking a hearty mouthful and lapsing into silence.
Max considered the lad sitting at the table. David, as it seemed, had been alone for quite a long time. No parents, no mentor, no one to teach him how to survive. All he had for friends were his fellow orphans and the caretakers at Fairchild.
"I have an offer for you," said Max. This must have caught David's attention. He paused mid-chew and looked directly into Max's eyes. Hopeful determination shined in his face as he waited for Max to say what he was praying for. "I need someone to work my shop during the day. I'm more of a night owl myself, for keeping track of the inventory and demand." David's eyes brightened. "I am willing to hand you this responsibility, but be warned. If I find anything missing or damaged in the store, I will come to you first."
David, half taken by shock, choked on the half-chewed bit of sandwich as he hastily stood from his chair. "Anything! You have my word that you will find this store in perfect condition every day. I'll stay as late as you like, I work hard, really I do, and I won't--"
Max cut him off again with a wave of his hand and a warm smile. "That's all right," he said, chuckling. "I trust you. Just prove me right, all right? Now, finish your sandwich and tea. I've got a spare stock room in the back of this place. It's not very comfortable, but it is warm." David smiled, almost laughing with surprise. "You start tomorrow. First thing I want you to do is organize all these books. Alphabetical by author, starting on the left side of the store. You do read, correct?" David nodded vigorously. "Excellent. Finish your sandwich, and you can wash up in the back room."
This boy needs a father, Maximillion thought to himself as he walked back to the storeroom. He is lost without guidance, and I need someone to teach.
…
The following evening, Max entered his store just following dusk to find the shelves straightened and nearly full. He glanced at a nearby shelf and saw the spines, neatly arranged by author and title. Propped up by the window was a dusty copy of The Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe. He heard shuffling in the back right corner and moved around the stacks to see David. His coat and frayed gloves were gone, and his face and hair were cleaner. He looked tired, but determined to finish. He looked up only when Max cleared his throat, stopped and quickly said, "Oh hullo, I thought I would be finished by now, but you've got a lot of books."
Chuckling, Max replied, "Yes, I've had quite a lot of time to collect. You are welcome to read these when you are not working, of course." He ran a finger across the spine of a rather worn leather cover: Dracula. David saw this and without thinking, blurted out "What's that one about?"
"This?" Max pulls it out and flips to the middle pages. "This is one of my favorites. Suspense, horror, and just a hint of fear that only comes from the unknown." With one large hand he snaps he book shut and offers it to David.
"Thanks, but I've still got to finish," he replies. "I will look at it later though."
"Fair enough," Max says, and walks back toward the door where he props Dracula on the window sill, neatly complimenting the burgundy cover of the Poetry book sitting close by.